


Coming Together

by lalalive



Category: Muse
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalive/pseuds/lalalive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst Chris is out preparing for his annual costumed duty as father Chris-mas for the wolstenkids, Matt and Dom are left to their own devices to decorate the tree and prepare feasts. Chris, Kelly, the kids, Matt and Dom are spending the holidays together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Together

_December 24 - 3:00PM London, England_

It was their first Christmas together - not as friends, nor even as a band, but as a family. Girlfriends and lovers, some no more solid and lasting than passing acquaintances, had prevented them from celebrating together as many had often assumed they would. At the end of their tenth year together, when the drummer and the singer found themselves in each other's arms, there was no shock to the grand reveal, no great unrest from their gentle bassist, merely a slow nod of approval and a warm smile. And it was this quiet acceptance that allowed the new phase of their relationship to ease into their lifestyles, become something not completely new or foreign, just something that was and, perhaps, always had been. It seemed only natural that they host the holiday at their new home, an attempt to create traditions and form memories that would carry them into the new year. What was unnatural, however, was Dominic's sheer inability to manage a whisk.

The counter had been transformed from pristine white into a splotched mess of egg soaked sugar, the pages of the cookbook, propped carefully against the toaster, were becoming soaked with reminders of Dom's inexperienced wrist. At any other time of year, the scene itself would have been endearing, but this was Christmas and not the time for Matt to teach him how to bake.

'Dear god, what are you doing?'

Matt walked briskly over to Dominic's side, a look of horror smeared across his features and his arms outstretched in a failed attempt to stop the chaos.

'The instructions said to beat the eggs and sugar until smooth,' Dom replied defensively, looking from the contents of the stainless steel bowl to the cookbook.

'Yes, beat,' Matt clarified, 'not pulverize.' He nudged Dom out of the way with a gentle thrust of his hip, taking control of the whisk. Turning the bowl onto its side, he quickly started to beat the ingredients together with quick flicks of his wrist. 'See? Nothing to it.'

Dom leaned his back against the counter, picking up his glass of wine as he casually watched his partner take control. 'I told you I couldn't bake. You really ought to listen to me.' He turned his gaze to entrance of kitchen, straight ahead and decorated with tinsel, eyeing his work with pride. 'The only thing I'm good at is decorating.'

'Mmmm,' Matt hummed in agreement, slowly adding the flour. 'It's a miracle you managed to pass for straight all those years.'

'Oi!' Dom snapped, licking his lips and turning back to watch Matt hard at work

'You know I mean that with the highest affection.'

With a smirk, Dominic studied the way small pieces of Matthew morphed and changed when he was in the kitchen. The line of his posture had straightened to military-like perfection, his jawline softened yet there was a distinct furrow to his usually relaxed brow. The shapes and essence of him had changed into someone completely in control, something utterly beautiful.

And then, of course, there was the flick of his wrist. Years of experience, in both the kitchen and in the bedroom, were contained in such a simple movement. How the twist of a joint, the length of too elegant fingers, and the agility with which they handled an object could incite the most illicit thoughts was startling. But then, Dominic was just a man, and man is not infallible, especially in the realm of desire.

Turning back towards the counter, he rested his head in his palm as he leaned, arse coming to rise into the air. Trousers tightening with each passing moment, he brought his eyes to what he could see of Matt's from his sharp profile.

A smile tugged at the side of Matt's mouth, his attention shifting from the dough to the sight of Dom's flush in his peripheral vision.

'I know exactly what you're thinking,' Matt said calmly.

'How can you possibly? Surely you aren't psychic.' The playfulness in his voice surprised even him, his tongue handling the sarcasm without a second thought.

Matt released a laugh, dropping the whisk to finally meet Dom's coy expression. 'It doesn't take a psychic to read what's written all over your face. I can see it behind your eyes, the smut and the filth congregating to form some absurd plan to get me naked. It's always the way with you.'

'I resent that,' Dom said, bringing himself to stand. 'I was, in fact, thinking about that wrist.' He nodded deftly towards Matt's right wrist.

'My wrist?' Matt repeated, dumbstruck.

Pushing himself off the counter, Dom slowly came to stand behind Matt, his nose pressing into the back of his head. He inhaled deeply, trapping the scent of his musky shampoo deep within his lungs. He let it mingle with his oxygen, be carried around his blood stream, before he released it back into the atmosphere his greed only partly satisfied.

'This wrist,' he began slowly, 'is the wrist that convinced me to join the band. This is the wrist that's brought women to their knees, has brought me to the edge of my control.' He punctuated his words with soft nips to Matt's neck, and he smiled as he felt Matthew slowly become unhinged before him. Limbs slowly tipped themselves back to get close, too close for subtle touching.

'This wrist,' he continued, 'is making Christmas, our Christmas. I put up the tree and hung the decorations, but at the end of the day, in the middle of the following year, no one remembers the smell of pine or the arrangement of lights. They remember the food and the wine, the laughter and the conversation. It starts here, with the wrist that makes the dessert, the wrist,' he pressed his lips to the curve of Matt's ear, breathing gently with his eyes half mast, 'that will have me all through the night.'

'Fuck,' Matt sighed. 'You need to stop. We have a full day of cooking ahead of us and if you keep that up….nothing will get done.'

'I can name one thing that would,' Dom whispered.

'Piss off!' Matt laughed, but made no effort to move. 'Do you want to be responsible for five pissy young children, whining because there was no dessert?'

'No, but then I could say you were the on in charge of the food and it really wouldn't be my fault.' He pressed a hot kiss to the tendon of Matt's neck, savoring the feel of the blood rushing beneath his lips.

'Fuck it,' Matt said, turning in Dom's arms and pressing their mouths together, hands tangling in Dom's thick hair.

'That's the spirit,' came Dom's reply, muffled by his partner's tongue

They tumbled back towards the island, turning and tripping over the other's feet. Dessert could wait.


End file.
